


Roses & Ink

by ifeelsinister (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Florist Sam, M/M, Social Anxiety, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:28:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ifeelsinister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a socially anxious florist whose brother thinks he needs to get laid. Cas is the cute tattoo artist who works across the street. Guess what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lucifer is Sam’s best customer, and he has been ever since he bought the building across the street from Sam’s shop.

Sam has rather mixed feelings about the situation.

Every Monday, the snarky, beady-eyed man who calls himself Lucifer (Sam’s still not sure if that’s his real name or not) comes into Sam’s shop and buys a bouquet of roses, which he uses to decorate the windows at his own shop across the street, a tattoo parlor ominously known as “The Cage.” If there’s some kind of reference in the name, Sam doesn’t get it, but even after two years of ringing up roses every week, he’s never had the guts to ask about it. Lucifer has that kind of vibe; maybe it’s the pentagram and skull tattoos that cover every inch of his visible skin, or maybe it’s, you know, the fact that he has the same name as  _Satan_ , but Sam tries to avoid asking any questions of his customer lest he get offended and decide to break Sam’s neck on the spot. (Lucifer looks like the kind of guy who would do it, too, and not think twice.)

Not to say that Sam doesn’t appreciate the business; he’s more than happy to have a regular at the shop, something that isn’t very common considering most people don’t buy flowers on a frequent basis. Honestly, being a florist in Lawrence, Kansas isn’t the most lucrative profession, so it’s nice to know that on days when business is slow, Sam can count on selling at least one bouquet a week, even if he’s selling it to a man who constantly looks like he’s prepared to set something on fire for fun.

Apart from that one little interaction with Lucifer each Monday, though, Sam hasn’t met any of the other artists from across the road, nor has he met any of the employees at any of the other businesses on the street. Dean says that Sam’s anti-social, that he needs to get out more and make some friends, or “at least get laid once in a while.”

But Sam disagrees. He’s not anti-social; he talks to Dean everyday, doesn’t he? Sure, they’re brothers, but it still counts. Sam talks to his customers, when he has them; he talks to the delivery guy when he orders new vases for the shop, and he talks to his therapist, Dr. Tran. And he talks to his flowers—it’s good for them, makes them grow and stay healthy, and it’s good for Sam, too, he thinks. (Dean says it’s weird that he talks to plants, but at this point, Sam has stopped putting a lot of weight in Dean’s opinions about his social life.)

Sam doesn’t need more friends or more sex. He likes his life exactly the way it is—quiet, familiar, and predictable. He’s never been a big fan of change, anyway.  
  
*

No, Sam’s never done well with change; it makes him anxious, or at least that’s what his therapist says. Sam’s never really agreed with Dr. Tran on that front, because everyone gets a little uncomfortable with change, right? As far as Sam is concerned, he’s totally normal. Probably.

At least, he believed so until today. It’s Monday, which means Lucifer will be in around eleven to pick up his roses like every week before. Sam’s caught up on most of his orders for the day, so he busies himself cleaning up around the shop.

Eleven o’clock comes and goes; The Cage is open for the day now, and Sam can see some of the employees’ cars and bikes parked out front. Lucifer’s motorcycle isn’t in its usual spot, but Sam knows he’ll be there by noon at the latest. He hasn’t missed a Monday in two years. It’s fine.

Sam eats lunch in the back room at the regular time and Lucifer still hasn’t showed. He finds himself glancing frequently at the clock, and he watches as morning turns to afternoon, his shop staying empty the entire time except for a few customers who look around and buy nothing. He distracts himself by watering his flowers, talking to the ones that are starting to wilt. Besides, it’s not like he really cares whether Lucifer shows up or not. Sam doesn’t even  _like_  the guy. It doesn’t matter, he repeats to himself, like a mantra. 

Except by three o’clock, Sam’s starting to think maybe it  _does_  matter. His heart is beating faster than normal, and the back of his mind feels… itchy, like there’s something he needs to do, some thought he needs to scratch out, but he can’t reach it and doesn’t even know what it is in the first place. It’s stupid, he knows it is. He can go one week without selling a damn bouquet of roses and the world’s not gonna end.

But while Sam shakily paces his shop, his mind reels. What if Lucifer decided he’s not going to buy from Sam anymore? What if Sam’s done something wrong, something he didn’t even notice at the time, and now he’s lost his only consistent customer? What if he’s losing his touch? What if his other customers stop buying, too, until he has to sell the place? What if he loses his flowers, his job, his apartment, what if what if what if—

Sam’s head snaps up at breakneck speed at the sound of the shop’s door opening, triggering the tiny bell that hangs above the doorjamb and lets out a cheerful  _ding._  Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and gathering himself, he emerges from the back room, trying his best to sound nonchalant as he says, “I was wondering when you’d show up—”

It’s not Lucifer.

The stranger hovering near the door is idly glancing around the store, his hands shoved in the pockets of his black jeans. He looks up from a vase of magnolias when Sam enters and asks, “Are you the flower guy?”

Sam blinks a few times. “Uh, yeah, I’m the flower guy—er, Sam. I’m Sam.” He tries not to visibly cringe at his own awkwardness and asks, “What can I help you with?”

“I’m Cas, Lucifer’s brother,” the man explains, jutting his thumb back towards where The Cage sits across the street. “He’s sick today, so he wanted me to pick up an order for him. He said you’d have it ready?”

Lucifer’s brother. Sam gives the man a once-over, and apart from the inclination towards black clothing and the intricate tattoos covering Cas’s arms, there isn’t much physical resemblance. Where Lucifer has short, blonde hair, Cas’s hair is dark and unkempt, like he hasn’t brushed it in several months. His ears are stretched, enough to be noticeable but no bigger than 10 millimeters at most, and his sharp jawline is dark with stubble. Instead of having the same harsh, almost menacing gaze of his brother, Cas’s crystal blue eyes are wide and bright; at the very least, he doesn’t look like he wants to bash Sam’s skull in, which is always a plus.

“Right, sure,” Sam replies as he disappears into the back room to fetch the rose arrangement. When he returns, Cas has only moved a few inches and is reading the label on a box of seedlings.

“Those are hydrangeas,” Sam comments, placing the roses on the front counter and beginning to ring them up. “Or, they will be, eventually.”

“So is this what you do all day? Plant flowers and arrange them?” Cas questions.

Sam’s gotten this question so many times that at this point, he just expects it, especially from other guys who think floristry is a profession ‘for pansies’ (because that pun never gets old). However, when Cas asks, he cocks his head to the side and patiently waits for an answer, like he’s genuinely curious rather than just looking for a way to make fun of someone. It almost catches Sam off guard, and he blinks a few times before he finally answers.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, there’s a little more to it than that, but… Pretty much,” he replies with a shrug.

“It seems peaceful.”

That response surprises Sam even more, but he finds himself nodding. “Yeah. It is.” He pauses for a moment before asking, “What do you do?”

“Same as my brother. It’s kind of a… family business of sorts,” he explains with a shrug. “Luci’s shop owner, my sister Naomi’s manager, and me and our other sister, Anna, do most of the actual designing and inking.”

“You’re an artist?” Sam asks, intrigued.

Cas chuckles, running a hand through his mess of hair. “Yeah, well, that’s the job title, anyway. I guess ‘artist’ sounds a little more enticing than ‘guy who gets paid to stab you with needles repeatedly.’”

Sam laughs, his gaze meeting Cas’s again, and something about the softness in his piercingly-blue eyes makes Sam’s cheeks redden. He averts his eyes quickly to the cash register again, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Um, that’ll be twenty-two dollars.”

While Cas digs around in his wallet, Sam seizes the opportunity to get a closer look at some of Cas’s tattoos: a rosary around his wrist, some traditional-style roses wrapping around his toned forearm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of Cas’s Ramones t-shirt. On one of his arms, Sam notices a replica of a tattoo Lucifer has, as well—a star design inside a circle of flames, as well as a few more ancient-looking symbols Sam doesn’t recognize.

“Here you go.” Cas’s gravelly voice snaps Sam out of his thoughts, and he cringes as he realizes he’s been caught in the middle of ogling Cas’s arms.

“Sorry, I was just looking at your tattoos,” he explains with a grimace as Cas hands him the cash.

“Hey, it’s okay. I wouldn’t have gotten them if I didn’t want people to see,” Cas assures him with a smile. “You have any of your own?”

“Tattoos? Um, no,” Sam stutters, counting out Cas’s change. “I’ve just, uh, I don’t know what I would get.”

“Do you  _want_  one?”

Sam thinks for a moment, finally shrugging when he hands Cas his receipt. “Maybe. I haven’t thought about it, honestly.”

“Well, if you ever decide you do,” Cas smirks, “you know how to reach me.” From his pocket, he pulls out a business card, writes something on it with Sam’s pen, and hands it to him before gathering the bouquet in his arms. “Thanks for your help, Sam.”

“Sure, sure,” he replies, though before Cas can open the door to leave, he adds, “Wait, before you go…”

Cas turns to face Sam again, his eyebrows raised expectantly, and Sam takes a deep breath before asking, “Is Lucifer his real name?”

Slowly, a wide grin breaks out across Cas’s face, and he lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry, Sam. I think Luci would kill me if I told you,” he jokes. With a wink, he adds, “See you around, Sam,” before slipping out the door.

Sam watches through the window as Cas crosses the street, looking away only once he’s back inside The Cage and the door has shut behind him.

Sam closes the shop less than two hours later, and only after he’s turned out the lights, locked up, and gotten into his car does he finally look at the card Cas left behind. Beneath The Cage’s logo is printed:

**_Castiel “Cas” Novak_ **

**_Body Art Extraordinaire_ **

**_(785) 555 2368_ **

**_2810 SW Jackson St_ **

And then, in Cas’s handwriting:

**_Flower guys get 10% off -C_ **

Sam reads over it a few times, absentmindedly smiling to himself before slipping it into his wallet and driving home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is coerced into attending a party for Dean's fiancee and runs into someone familiar.

The rest of the week drags on as per usual. Sam works. He eats and sleeps. He watches basketball at Dean’s house on Wednesday night and sees Dr. Tran on Thursday. He arranges his flowers and watches Netflix and takes his anxiety meds, and then the next morning he does it all again, just as he always has. By Friday, he’s all but forgotten about his minor encounter with Lucifer’s brother several days earlier, though Cas’s business card remains tucked into his wallet just as Sam left it.

Sam’s just about to close up the shop on Friday when Dean calls. Continuing to wipe down the tables in the back room with one hand, Sam presses the phone between his ear and shoulder and answers, “Hey, Dean, what’s up?”

“Dude, are you on your way?”

Sam’s eyebrows bunch together as he continues to clean. “On my way where?”

“You did  _not_  forget,” Dean groans into the phone.

“Forget about wh—” Sam starts to ask, but then it hits him.  _Shit_.

Today is Dean’s fiancée, Jo’s birthday, and she’d planned a small get-together that would take place at Dean’s house. Dean had brought it up to Sam a few weeks earlier, when he was over for their routine Wednesday basketball game and beer. “Come on, man,” Dean had practically begged (though of course he’ll never admit to begging for anything in his life). “Jo really wants you to come. I mean, I do too, obviously. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got any plans. Didn’t your shrink tell you to be more social?”

“I’ll tell Jo happy birthday on my own,” Sam had insisted. “I don’t even know any of her friends—”

“You know me! And it’s not like you have to  _drink_ or anything. Just show up, say hi, stay a coupla hours and leave. You’ll be home in time to watch  _Real Housewives of Atlanta,_ ” Dean teased.

Sam had rolled his eyes at that (and silently wondered why Dean knew what night  _Real Housewives_ came on), but had ultimately acquiesced, too tired to put up much of an argument. He planned on calling Dean and canceling some time over the course of the week, but somehow it must have slipped his mind, and it’s too late to back out now, especially since Sam had promised he’d help Dean bake Jo’s cake.

“Get your ass over here, man,” Dean exclaims into the receiver, and with a sigh, Sam hangs up his apron, grabs his messenger bag, and begins locking up. “Jo gets off work in less than an hour and I’m still not sure if I’m supposed to use baking powder or baking soda.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Try not to burn the place down,” Sam deadpans before hanging up. As he steps out into the street and towards his car, he absentmindedly glances over his shoulder at The Cage, the windows still decorated with Sam’s roses from earlier that week. He smiles a bit at the memory of the blue-eyed artist before he climbs into his car, takes a deep breath, and pulls out of the parking lot to head to Dean’s house.

Just as he promised, Sam helps Dean with baking Jo’s birthday cake—or, rather, Sam bakes the cake while Dean sits on the kitchen counter and licks the mixing spoon. While he sits at the table and waits for the timer to go off, half-listening to Dean tell a story about something that happened at the garage that week, Sam fidgets in his seat, trying to mentally ready himself for the night that lies ahead.  _Just stay by Dean the whole time and you’ll be fine_ , he tells himself without much conviction.  _All you have to do is say hi, sit back, and watch everyone else get drunk. Then you can go home, read a book, and go to bed. You’ll be okay._

Sam manages to put on a genuine smile by the time Jo comes home. He gives his future sister-in-law a hug and wishes her a happy birthday, even cracks a joke or two while he helps set up food and plastic cups; it’s easy now, still in the comfort of a familiar place with people he knows well, to feel at least slightly at ease. But all too soon, there are people knocking at the door, and then more people, and more, and Dean’s house starts to feel smaller and smaller as Jo’s and Dean’s friends continue to show up, all laughing and talking and drinking boisterously.

For a while, Sam follows his initial plan of staying by Dean the whole time, because at least he’s a familiar face in a room full of people Sam doesn’t know. But staying by Dean essentially means staying by Jo, and staying by the host of the party means milling around and meeting with every single person there, and meeting every single person there means repeatedly being introduced as “This is my fiancée, Dean, and his brother, Sam.” And all these strangers want to shake Sam’s hand and make small talk and ask about his job and  _Jesus, how does Jo have this many friends? Is this a birthday party or a town meeting?_

By nine o’clock, Sam’s heart is thudding louder than the bass of whatever dubstep song one of Jo’s friends put on. He hasn’t even had anything to drink apart from a few nervous sips of Coke Zero, and yet all the crowded bodies around him are making him uncomfortably hot, his gut twisting until he thinks he could be sick except that there’s nothing in his stomach to get rid of. For what feels like the millionth time that night, Sam wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Sammy, you okay, man?” Dean’s voice worms its way into Sam’s racing thoughts, and he blinks a few times, looking down to where his brother has his hand on his shoulder. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Alcohol is pretty much the last thing Sam wants right now, but he just nods. “Yeah, uh, good idea. I’ll go get one.”

“Atta boy, Sammy,” Dean smirks, clapping Sam on the back. “Hey, get me another beer while you’re over there, would ya?”

Sam nods absently and finally ventures away from his brother for the first time in several hours, though instead of heading towards the kitchen, he weaves his way through the ocean of increasingly-intoxicated strangers until he reaches the front door. Hidden by the swarms of people and the loud thrumming of music, Sam inconspicuously slips outside and shuts the door behind him. The chatter and the music from inside is still audible, but it’s less grating from out here, and Sam can finally hear himself  _think._

God, he hates parties.

For a few moments, Sam stays still, just leaning his head back against the door and taking in breaths through his nose and out through his mouth, relishing the feeling of the cool night’s air against his burning skin. Once his pulse is slightly slower—just enough so that his heart rate is no longer in the range typically reserved for heart attacks—he trudges forward a few feet and lowers himself to sit on the edge of the porch.

Minutes pass—he isn’t quite sure how many, but Sam stays on the porch, his nerves gradually subsiding now that he’s no longer surrounded by sweaty, loud strangers. He passes the time by taking deep breaths— _in for four counts, hold for seven, breath out for eight, the way Dr. Tran taught you_ —and kicking at little pebbles on the sidewalk. It’s nice and quiet out here, or at least nicer and quieter, and Sam almost jumps when the peace is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing behind him.

Sam whirls around to see another lone straggler from the party, though with only the porch light and moon to help him see, he can only make out the figure’s silhouette as it sighs and takes a seat on the porch a few inches from Sam.

The stranger at Sam’s side says nothing—only reaches into the pocket of their black denim jacket to produce a pack of cigarettes. Sam shifts slightly on the cool brick of the porch step, watching from the corner of his eye as they shake a cigarette from the pack and reach into their pocket again for a lighter.

“Do you want one?” The stranger is the first to speak in a deep, gravelly voice, offering their pack of cigarettes to Sam, who silently declines with a shake of his head. Why does that voice sound so familiar—?

“Wait a second. Sam?”

Sam’s head snaps up as he turns to fully face the man at his side, and at the sound of his name, it clicks. “Cas?”

“I didn’t notice that was you at first,” Cas chuckles beneath his breath as he lights up, and in the flame of the lighter, Sam finally gets a good look at the not-stranger sitting next to him. Today, a white beanie covers most of his unkempt dark hair, part of his stretched earlobes peeking out from beneath the hat; his black denim jacket is covered in different patches, a conglomeration of symbols and designs similar to the tattoos Sam remembers from their interaction on Monday. And, of course, those blue eyes; they light up with the reflection of the lighter’s flame, but all too soon, the fire is extinguished and Cas tucks it back into his jacket pocket, once again shrouding them in darkness.

“How are you, Sam?” Cas asks with the familiarity of an old friend. Just like on Monday, Castiel’s kind tone catches Sam off-guard; he knows he shouldn’t judge people by their appearance, but even still, it’s hard to understand how a man dressed entirely in black, who gets paid to pierce people’s tongues and tattoo skulls on their arms, can speak so softly and with so much genuine kindness.

“I, uh,” Sam stutters, “I’m good. I didn’t know you were here.”

Cas smiles, and Sam can see his bright teeth flashing even in the dimness. “I didn’t know you were, either. How do you know Jo?”

“She’s engaged to my brother,” he replies. He watches as Cas takes a deep inhale off the cigarette, and tries not to stare too much at Cas’s lips as they blow the smoke back out. “How do you know her?”

“My sister, Anna,” Cas explains. “They’ve been friends since we were kids. Jo is like a little sister to me. As if I need more siblings,” he adds, and Sam surprises both of them by genuinely smiling at his joke. “So it’s a small world after all, huh?”

“Or just a small town,” Sam replies, earning a chuckle from Cas. Sam’s not sure why, but it feels like an accomplishment.

A comfortable silence descends around them for a few moments, until Cas speaks up again, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “So what brings you out here away from the party this lovely evening?” he asks, his voice half-teasing. “You don’t seem intoxicated.”

Sam grimaces slightly, running a hand through his overgrown hair. “Yeah, uh, no. I don’t drink that much. And I’m not much of a party person. Or a… people person.”

Cas hums. “That’s understandable. People suck.”

“What about you?”

“Well, I came out here to smoke, mostly,” Cas explains, and Sam starts to feel stupid for even asking such an obvious question until he adds, “But I also just had to get away from that shitty music they’re playing in there. Would it kill them to play some Sonic Youth or, hell, some Nirvana? I’d settle for _Green Day_ at this point.”

Sam grins at the adorable way Cas’s nose crinkles in disgust. “The music  _is_  pretty awful, huh?”

“The  _worst,_ ” Cas laughs.

“I’ve never listened to Sonic Youth,” Sam admits.

“Well, we need to change that. Maybe I can lend you an album sometime,” Cas replies, giving Sam a soft smile that brings back that weird feeling in his stomach, although this time it’s… Better, somehow? More pleasant? Sam makes a mental note to ask Dr. Tran about it at their next appointment.

“I’m surprised you remembered me from the other day,” Cas comments, stubbing out his cigarette on the brick of the porch step.

 _How could I_ not  _remember you?_ Sam wants to reply.  _You’re the hottest guy to come in my shop all year._

Instead, Sam simply agrees, “I’m surprised  _you_  remembered  _me_.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Cas asks, his lips tipping slightly upward on one side. Sam only briefly meets his eyes before turning his gaze back to his feet, thankful for the darkness to hide the unsolicited blush rising to his cheeks.

“I dunno,” he mutters with a shrug, absently digging the toe of his shoe into a crack in the sidewalk.

“You sell yourself short, Sam,” Cas replies, his eyes soft. “I don’t just give my number to anyone, you know. After all, it’s not every day I meet a cute florist.”

Sam sits in stunned silence, unable to formulate a response, though luckily he doesn’t have to; just as Castiel finishes speaking, the front door opens again, and a woman with a shock of bright red hair emerges from the whirlwind of activity inside.

“Cas, we should get going,” she says, hoisting her purse up onto her shoulder, and the two piercings in her cheeks flash as they reflect the porch light. “I have to open the shop tomorrow and Luci will be pissed if I oversleep again.”

“Alright, just a minute,” Cas replies to whom Sam assumes to be his sister, Anna. She hums in acknowledgment and starts walking towards her car, her heels clacking against the sidewalk as she walks the long strip of cars that line Dean’s street. Meanwhile, Cas picks himself up off the ground, and for whatever reason, Sam stands as well, lingering with his hand awkwardly poised in his jeans pocket as Cas dusts himself off.

“It was good to see you again, Sam,” Castiel says after Anna is out of earshot, and Sam can only nod, his face burning at the way Cas looks at him with those eyes, soft and blue as a baby’s blanket. “You’ll be back at work on Monday?”

Sam nods again before Cas shoots him another smile. “Well, see you then, Flower Guy. I owe you a Sonic Youth album.” With that, Castiel turns and disappears down the sidewalk after Anna.

*

Two hours later when Sam’s helped Dean and Jo clean up and he finally gets home, sufficiently exhausted, he collapses into bed without bothering to change clothes apart from kicking off his shoes. As he wraps himself up in the blissful silence of his apartment, relishing the familiarity and safety of his own bed, Sam’s mind jumps back to the porch with Castiel, replaying their brief but pleasant conversation as much as he can in his exhaustion.

“ _It’s not every day I meet a cute florist._ ”

Sam tries not to linger too much on that thought. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he tells himself. Just because Sam thinks Cas is cute and Cas (somehow) seems to reciprocate doesn’t mean anything will happen. For all he knows, Cas is just playing with him, maybe even making fun of him, although Dr. Tran says Sam shouldn’t make assumptions about people’s hidden motives without probable reason.

Still, Sam remembers Cas’s final words to him earlier that night: “ _Well, see you then, Flower Guy. I owe you a Sonic Youth album._ ”

For the first time in a while, Sam can’t wait for it to be Monday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas meet again for the first time since Jo's party.

Sam shows up to the shop earlier than usual on Monday, images of Friday’s party still fresh in his mind. If he’s being completely honest with himself, it’s all he’s thought of all weekend--that adorable tattoo artist, with his blue eyes and gravelly voice, the ink designs curling up his arms and the cigarette smoke curling from his lips, and his promise to visit Sam’s shop on Monday with a Sonic Youth album.

Sunday night, Sam debates looking up Sonic Youth on his own, just so he’ll know something about them and have something to talk about with Cas, but he decides he’d rather learn from Cas himself. It’ll be more special that way.

 _Oh, dear God,_ he realizes, lying in bed Sunday night, _it’s like you’ve got a middle school crush all over again._

Of course, Sam recognizes that Cas may not have been serious when he said he’d see Sam on Monday. He could’ve just been saying that, just to be nice and without any true intentions behind it. Cas could’ve been drunk; he didn’t _seem_ drunk, but he could’ve just been really good at hiding it. Or maybe--and Sam has to try and push this suspicion to the back of his thoughts to keep from dwelling on it too much--Cas was making fun of him. Sam knows that the chances of that are slim, and he’s working with Dr. Tran on trying to combat those feelings of everyone secretly hates me, but it’s still a possibility… just one that he tries not to think about on the drive to work Monday morning.

He knows that showing up early to the shop will have no effect on how soon he sees Cas, if he chooses to visit at all, but he unlocks the front door a full fifteen minutes before his usual opening time and gets started early on the arrangements he’s working on that day. He can tell already it’s going to be a long day; he’s restless, and that’s never a good thing.

Sam keeps himself busy throughout the day, perfecting an arrangement he’s working on for a wedding, watering the flowers in the back. It helps that it’s surprisingly busy for a Monday--busy meaning that more than three people come in and two of them actually buy or order something.

Lucifer from across the street comes in at eleven as usual, and while Sam rings up his regular order of roses, he can’t help but feel slightly disappointed that Lucifer isn’t still sick like last week. It’s not like he wishes the man any trouble--if he did, Lucifer seems capable of somehow finding out and bashing Sam’s head in--but it’s not exactly a secret that Sam would much prefer a visit from his blue-eyed brother.

He doesn’t complain, though, and even manages to give him a polite smile, though Lucifer only glowers back.

After lunch, things slow down at the shop. Without much else to do, Sam clicks around on his computer, tends to the plants that need it, finally gets around to watching that cat video Dean emailed him last week. The afternoon crawls by at a snail’s pace, and no matter how much he tries, he can’t stop himself from constantly looking across the street to The Cage. If he looks closely, he can see Cas’s sister, Anna, arranging the roses in the window for the week, but not much else apart from the slow stream of customers in and out of the front door.

 _Quit looking for him,_ he chastises himself. _You’re being creepy._

He looks anyway.

By four-thirty, Sam’s convinced that Cas isn’t coming, and he can’t help but feel a bit stupid for getting so excited about seeing him. _You hardly know the guy,_ he reminds himself, in a half-assed attempt to give himself a reality check. _What did you think was going to happen?_ It doesn’t help relieve any of the disappointment he feels, though, so he tries a different approach:

 _Hey, maybe you lucked out,_ he thinks without much conviction. _He could be an ax murderer._

Sam honestly can’t imagine Cas, with his skinny jeans and kind smile, as an ax murderer. Maybe his brother, but not Cas. Granted, he’s only met him twice, but something about him just seems… warm. Sam doesn’t know how else to describe it. All he knows is that when Cas talks, his voice comes out smooth and rich like black coffee, and when he listens, he looks at you like he wants to hear everything you have to say, no matter how boring it might be. Something about him just feels good, and in Sam’s life, feeling good is definitely something he could use more of. And God, his _eyes…_

Sam is snapped out of his reverie by a loud knocking noise coming from the main room. He slowly sets down his broom and stills, but then after a few silent moments, he hears it again--three distinct knocks on the front door.

It’s almost five, so Sam had already locked the door and was planning to leave as soon as he finished sweeping the back room. Customers rarely ever come past four at the latest, and it seems obvious to him that most would be deterred by finding the front door locked, but apparently he assumed wrong.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Sam emerges from the back room expecting to see a businessman outside, desperate to pick up a bouquet for the wedding anniversary he forgot about, or maybe the delivery guy with a new shipment of vases. He definitely does not expect to see Cas hovering outside the door, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and the other at his side, holding a CD.

Sam can’t help but let out a surprised laugh at the sight of Cas waiting patiently outside the door, eyes lighting up once he sees Sam come out from the back. He crosses the room quickly and unlocks the door, and Cas is speaking before he can even open it all the way.

“Hello,” he greets Sam, a little out of breath. “I was planning to come say hi during my lunch break, but then I remembered that I said I’d bring the Sonic Youth album and I left it at home. So I went home to find the CD but I guess it got lost when I moved, because it took me an hour to find it at the bottom of my closet, and then by the time I got here you’d already locked up but I saw the light on so I thought I’d--”

“Whoa, hey,” Sam chuckles, holding up his hand to slow Cas down. “It’s okay, really. I didn’t think you were actually going to come.”

Cas blinks up at him a few times, catching his breath. “Is it alright that I did?”

Sam smiles earnestly, giving a surprised laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. I mean… you didn’t have to go to all that trouble, though.”

“I wanted to,” Cas replies without hesitation, and Sam feels his cheeks getting hot.

“I was hoping I’d be able to stay and talk a little more,” Cas continues, glancing over Sam’s shoulder at the inside of his shop. “But since you’re closing up for the night... I guess I’ll just leave this with you.” He holds out the CD, and Sam takes it, their fingers barely brushing.

“ _Confusion is Sex_ ,” Sam chuckles, looking over the illustration on the album cover. “Interesting title. I’m intrigued.”

“It’s a wonderful album. In my opinion,” Cas quickly adds. “I won’t be offended if you don’t like it. It’s not for everyone. Kind of… noisy.”

“Noisy?”

It could just be a trick of the light, since the sun is starting to set and they’re beneath the shadow of the awning outside Sam’s shop, but he swears he can see Cas’s cheeks redden.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking down at his combat boots. “I… guess I’ll let you get home, then.”

Don’t go just yet, Sam wants to say, but he only nods, unable to get himself to voice his desire. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Thank you. For bringing me this.” He holds up the CD.

“Hey, no problem,” Cas assures him with that blinding smile of his. “Keep it as long as you want. I’ll be interested to hear what you have to say about it.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, meeting Cas’s eyes, and once again, something about Cas makes him feel warm inside, like he just drank something hot. It’s a good feeling. “I’ll let you know.”

For a brief second, the two of them stand in the doorway of Sam’s shop, shifting their weight and looking at each other before Cas finally speaks. “I’ll see you around, then, Sam,” he says.

“See you around,” Sam repeats, and watches as Cas turns on his wheel with a smile and crosses the street back to The Cage, disappearing through its front door. He stands in the doorway a moment longer, smiling down at the CD in his hands, before he goes back into the shop to finish cleaning up.

*

Sam puts in the CD when he gets into his car a few minutes later, turning the volume up as the first song comes on. He drives home with Sonic Youth’s Confusion is Sex in his ears and a lingering warmth in his stomach.

The music is terrible.

Cas was right. It is literally nothing but noise--guitars being shredded in a way that doesn’t sound like music, gruff talk-singing and drums being bashed without much pattern or rhythm. Halfway through the first song, Sam knows that he isn’t going to like the rest of the album, but still he gives it a chance and listens to the entire thing on the way home.

Then he listens to it again while he eats dinner.

By some miracle, he likes it slightly better the second time, though it’s still kind of… grating. Cas was definitely right--it isn’t for everyone. Sam definitely prefers his own playlists of soft rock and acoustic, singer-songwriter music. But he listens to the whole thing twice, and actually kind of enjoys it, because this is something Cas gave to him, specifically to him--he went out of his way to find this CD and bring it to Sam, and for whatever reason that makes the warmth in his stomach burn even hotter.

When he gets into bed that night, he decides Sonic Youth isn’t so bad of a band.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day at exactly noon, Sam hangs up his apron in its usual spot and grabs his messenger bag from behind the front counter. On the door to his shop, he tapes a piece of paper with a message scrawled hastily in Sharpie: “Gone for lunch--back by 12:30.” He locks the door behind himself, looks both ways, and crosses the street to The Cage.

Sam has never stepped foot inside a tattoo parlor in his life. He’s never even considered it--not because he has anything against tattoos, but just because it’s never been something that appealed to him personally. Apart from what he’s drawn from a few episodes of _L.A. Ink_ he watched years ago, he has no idea what to expect. Going to new places has always been a source of anxiety for him, but those feelings are only amplified considering he’s going there to meet a cute guy who smokes cigarettes and listens to grunge music.

A bell rings above his head when he opens the front door, and he’s immediately hit by the smell of antiseptic, strong enough to make his nostrils burn for a few seconds. He takes a few tentative steps inside, scanning the walls painted neon pink and blue and covered with photographs of completed tattoos. There’s a small sitting area near the front, where a few people are idly looking through magazines and books of tattoo designs, and behind them, a large window is decorated with dozens of roses from Sam’s shop. A couple of the customers look up at him when he enters, and Sam quickly looks away, already feeling like he doesn’t fit in here.

Despite his insecurity, he steps up to the front desk, where a woman Sam faintly recognizes is sitting at a computer. After a minute, it hits him that this is Anna, Cas’s sister whom he briefly met at Dean and Jo’s party the last weekend. He waits silently at the desk for a few minutes before she looks up at him with intense eyes rimmed in black eyeliner.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh…” Sam clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “No. I’m looking for Cas.”

Anna runs her tongue over the piercing on her bottom lip, eyeing Sam up and down. “Are you wanting to get some work done?”

“N-no,” Sam replies, feeling more and more stupid each time he opens his mouth. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. “I, uh, I just need to talk to Cas, if he’s available. I have something to give to him.”

“Well, he’s with a customer right now,” she says. “I can either leave a message for him, or you can take a seat, but he’s about to be on his lunch break, so--”

She cuts herself off when a door to her right opens, and out step Cas and a young woman with a bandage on her wrist. Sam watches Cas hand her a folded piece of paper and instruct, “Here’s all you need to know for proper aftercare. If you have any questions, the shop’s number is at the bottom. Don’t be afraid to call if you have any concerns about how it’s healing.”

Cas waits until the girl takes the piece of paper and walks out of the shop, the door shutting behind her, before turning to Anna with an exaggerated groan.

“Anna, I am all about free expression and doing whatever makes you happy,” he announces, pulling the black Latex gloves off his hands and tossing them in a nearby trashcan, “but I swear to God, that is the eighth infinity sign I have done in the past week and--oh.” He stops mid-rant when his eyes suddenly land on Sam, hovering awkwardly at the front counter. “Hello, Sam. What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, looking down at his feet. “I should’ve waited till you weren’t busy. I can come back later if--”

“No, no, I’m not busy,” Cas assures him with a smile. “I was actually about to go outside for a smoke. Would you like to join me?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam stutters, already starting to blush. _Jesus, Sam, way to be obvious._ “That’d be great.”

“Great. Let me grab my stuff. I’ll be right back.” With a wink, Cas turns on his heel and disappears into the back, leaving Sam alone with Anna once more. He can feel some of the customers watching him from the waiting area, and Anna is staring at him with narrowed eyes, like she’s sizing him up. Sam breathes an awkward laugh and rubs the back of his neck.

“Are you fucking my brother?” Anna asks out of nowhere, and Sam just about has an aneurysm.

“W-what?” he stammers, the blood draining from his face. “No! I mean… no. We’re just… just friends.” As the words come out, Sam wonders in the back of his mind if he’s allowed to refer to Cas as his friend yet. No other word really seems to fit; maybe there’s some long German word for “hot tattoo-artist-guy that works across the street,” but Sam doesn’t know of it, so ‘friend’ will work for now.

Anna hums, like she’s not entirely convinced, and picks up a magazine, flipping through the pages. “Yeah. Okay.”

Sam breathes a sigh of relief when Cas returns from the back room with a package of cigarettes and a lighter in his hand. “Good to see my sister didn’t scare you off while I was gone,” Cas jokes. Sam barely manages an uneasy laugh and follows Cas to the front door.

“Be back in a bit, An,” Cas calls over his shoulder.

Anna doesn’t look up from her magazine. “Whatever.”

Cas holds the door open for Sam, and if he wasn’t blushing before, he damn sure is now. He follows Cas around the corner of the building to a side parking lot, and when Cas stops to lean back against the brick wall, Sam follows suit. Just like that night on Dean’s porch, he watches almost mesmerized as Cas lights a cigarette and takes the first drag.

 _Cigarettes are gross,_ Sam tries to remind himself. _Smoking is not attractive._

Except when it’s Cas, smoking is really, really attractive.

“So, Sam,” Cas says, turning his head to give Sam a smile. “What brings you to my side of the street?”

“Oh, right. Uh, I wanted to give this back,” he says. Sam reaches into the front pocket of his messenger back and pulls out Cas’s copy of _Confusion is Sex_ , holding it out for Cas to take.

“Listened to it already?” Cas asks, taking it from Sam. “What’s the verdict?”

“Well…” Sam trails off with a slight grimace, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “You were right. It’s very… noisy.”

“So in other words, you hated it?” Cas smirks.

“I wouldn’t say _hated_ , exactly…”

Sam doesn’t expect Cas to laugh out loud at that, but when he does, it makes Sam chuckle a little, too. Cas just has one of those laughs that makes everything seem a lot funnier than it really is.

As Cas’s laughter tapers off, he takes another inhale off his cigarette and lets out the stream of smoke through grinning lips. “Yeah. I kind of had a feeling you’d say that. I can’t imagine you’re much into the avant-garde rock scene, huh?”

“Not really,” Sam admits with a half-smile.

“Let me guess. Indie pop? Adult contemporary?”

Sam nods. “You’re good.”

“Well, that’s alright,” Cas says with a shrug. “It’s not for everybody.”

“But I did, uh… I did bring you this.” Sam’s hands are shaking a little as he reopens his bag and pulls out a second CD--one from his own collection. He offers it to Cas, who takes it with a curious smile.

“You don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to,” Sam starts to babble, like he always does when he’s nervous. “I don’t really know if it’s your style, but I just thought, you let me borrow one of your CDs so maybe, you know, you’d want to hear one of mine. It’s okay if you don’t like it, I won’t be offended--”

“Sam.”

Sam stops mid-sentence and takes a deep breath, meeting Cas’s bright eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’d love to listen to it,” Cas insists, and as he does, he reaches out and rests his free hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam can feel the warmth of Cas’s skin through his shirt, and it makes his already pounding heart accelerate that much more. Cas’s hand is big--smaller than Sam’s, but still larger than average--and calloused and tattooed but so warm and gentle, and it feels so good on his shoulder, like it just fits there. Dear God, even his _hands_ are perfect, how is that fair?

“O-okay.”

And then his hand is gone, dropped back to Cas’s side as he examines the CD case more closely. Sam can still feel the warmth of his hand where it had been on his shoulder, and he resists the urge to reach up and touch it himself.

“The Decemberists,” Cas reads off the band’s name, nodding to himself. “Awesome. Thank you, Sam. I can’t wait to listen to it.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam replies, his heart rate only just starting to return to normal. “You can just bring it back when you’re done listening, if you want.”

“Yeah, of course,” Cas says. He takes one last puff off his cigarette before crushing it beneath his shoe on the pavement. “Or, if you wanted to…” He trails off, and Sam looks at him expectantly.

“If I wanted to… what?”

Cas shrugs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “If you wanted to, maybe we could… Listen to it together sometime.”

So much for Sam’s heart rate going back to normal.

“W-what?” he stutters, then mentally slaps himself. “I mean… what?” Goddamnit, Sam.

“I get off at five today,” Cas says, and Sam follows him as he begins sauntering back to the front of the building. “Same time as you, right?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“So maybe after work we could, I dunno, get some coffee, and listen to the album together?” Sam feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. “Of course, if you’re busy or uninterested, I completely understa--”

“I would love to,” Sam says, then realizes he might’ve sounded a little too excited. He clears his throat and tries again, more calmly, “I mean, that sounds great.”

Once again, Cas breaks out that blinding, crinkly-eyed smile of his, and Sam can’t help but smile back even though he feels kind of dizzy. Good dizzy. They’ve reached the front door of The Cage again, and according to the clock Sam can see through the window, it’s almost twelve-thirty--time to get back to the shop.

“I’ll swing by at five and we can figure out where to go from there,” Cas offers. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Sam breathes.

“Perfect,” Cas repeats, and with a little wave of his hand, he opens the front door to his shop. “See you at five, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, and with that, Cas disappears back inside The Cage, leaving Sam alone on the sidewalk to stare after him like an idiot.

Eventually, Sam gets himself to walk back across the street on wobbly legs. _Jesus,_ if he gets this excited just from talking to Cas on his lunch break, he’s gonna be screwed when he sees Cas outside of the work day. Alone. With coffee and music.

Like a date.

The thought alone makes him smile.

Sam takes down the “gone for lunch” sign and pulls back on his apron with shaky hands. For a split second he considers taking some of his anti-anxiety meds, just to get his heart rate back to normal, but he decides against it, because this isn’t like what his usual anxiety feels like. Whatever this feeling is--this heart-pounding, stomach-twisting sensation--actually feels kind of… good. Nice. In a terrifying, uncomfortable way.

Sam sits down behind the front counter and takes a deep breath, trying to get his mind focused back on work and the things he needs to get done before the end of the day. But as the hours pass, he finds his eyes keep wandering back across the street to The Cage, and to the little side parking lot where he’d stood with Cas and watched him smoke a cigarette.

Five o’clock can’t come fast enough.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most cliche date ever, with an... interesting soundtrack.

Sam is jittery for the rest of the day. His leg won’t stop bouncing; his hands tremble a little when he’s cutting stems, and now that he’s alone again in his shop, he has plenty of time to do the one thing he does even better than arranging flowers: worry.

Sam hasn’t been on a date since he was still with his college girlfriend Jess, and they’d known each other for years before he could even work up the nerve to ask her. After they broke up and went their own ways, Dean tried a few times to set Sam up with someone, but he always declined his brother’s offers until Dean eventually gave up and stopped trying. By Sam’s count, that means that it’s been six years since his last date.

He decides not to mention that to Cas.

Plus, Sam isn’t even sure this really _is_ a date. He doesn’t know if Cas even likes guys or not. Maybe it’s totally normal for two guys to get coffee and listen to music together. It’s not like Sam would really know what constitutes as “normal bro behavior.”

He briefly considers calling Dean for advice, but it doesn’t take long for him to decide against it. He knows what Dean would say: “Get in his pants.” Somehow, Sam has a feeling that advice won’t be very useful for him.

It feels like years until the clock finally hits five and Sam starts sweeping up the back room. He’s just about to hang up his apron when he sees the door to The Cage open across the street, and out steps Cas, leather jacket, gauges and all, checking both ways before crossing the road to Sam’s shop. Sam quickly runs a hand through his hair and goes back to sweeping in an attempt to appear nonchalant, like he hasn’t been anxiously awaiting Cas’s arrival for four hours.

He tries to look surprised when the bell rings over Cas’s head in the doorway--like, _oh, you’re here, I didn’t even notice the time_ \--but whether it works or not is a mystery to Sam. All he knows is that Cas is standing in his shop again, and he’s smiling, and with the late-afternoon sun leaking in through the glass windows behind him, it almost looks like he has a halo--

“Hello, Sam,” Cas greets him, and Sam waves awkwardly, setting the broom up in its corner. “Almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my stuff,” he replies. He moves behind the front counter and shoulders his messenger bag before looking at Cas expectantly. “Where are we going?”

“I know a little place off Market Street that has pretty good coffee,” Cas says. “I was thinking I could give you a ride over there, then drop you off back at your car when we’re done.”

“That’d be great.”

“Great. Follow me, then,” Cas says with a wink. A _wink._ Sam feels his breath catch but plays it off as clearing his throat before following Cas through the front door. He pauses to lock up the shop behind him, then walks alongside Cas back across the street to The Cage’s parking lot. Cas leads him to a black, 1980 Mustang parked on the corner, and the two of them climb in side by side.

The car is small but clean, the old model reminding Sam of his brother. The interior smells like cigarette smoke, disinfectant, and incense, but it’s just faded enough that it’s somehow soothing, not overbearing. Maybe because Sam knows that it’s not just the car he’s smelling, but Cas. At least a dozen CDs lie at Sam’s feet on the floor of the passenger’s side, and Sam gets a quick glimpse of some of them--Dead Kennedys, Pearl Jam, Black Keys; there’s even a Fall Out Boy CD somewhere in there, which Sam finds entertaining for some reason. In the cupholders are a stubbed-out cigarette, an earring, and an empty mug with rings of dried coffee at the bottom.

It’s strange, being in Cas’s car, Sam thinks--it’s like gazing into a part of Cas’s life that he doesn’t feel he should be authorized to look at. It’s then that he realizes how little he actually knows about the guy; he’s a tattoo artist, he likes Sonic Youth, his brother’s named after Satan. That’s not a lot to go off of. Normally, Sam wouldn’t think of getting into someone’s car if that was all he knew about them. But, he supposes, Cas isn’t just someone. It goes against every ounce of logic in Sam’s brain, which would normally be enough to send him running, but Sam trusts him. Something about him just radiates warmth, acceptance, and Sam can’t explain it, but it’s there.

Which is slightly terrifying in its own right.

Cas revs the engine and the radio screams to life, blasting a Blink-182 song so loud that it makes Sam jump.

_“Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cock-sucker--”_

“Sorry, sorry!” Cas shouts over the radio, quickly turning the volume down so that it’s barely a hum in the background. He also changes the radio station to a different song, for good measure. “God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really,” Sam assures him.

Their eyes meet briefly before they both collapse into laughter.

“I’m just, uh--I’m gonna drive now and pretend that didn’t happen,” Cas manages between laughs, and Sam just nods, wiping tears from his eyes.

_Well, we’re off to a great start._

*

Cas takes him to the cafe--a tiny place run by hipsters where each individual cup of coffee takes five minutes to be made. Cas orders a coffee to-go, black, and Sam gets himself a cup of hot tea, which Cas insists on paying for. Sam argues against it, but Cas is determined--“It’s literally two dollars and fifty cents, Sam,” he says with a smile, handing Sam his cup. “I think you’re worth two dollars and fifty cents at the very least.”

Eventually, Sam lets him pay, half-disgruntled and half trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

Half an hour later, and Cas’s Mustang is parked at the top of a hill on the outskirts of town, the height offering them a perfect view of Lawrence at sunset. All the windows to the car are rolled down, letting the crisp autumn breeze roll over them as they sit in the front seat, sipping their drinks and watching the sun set. Cas lets his arm hang out of his window, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. The sky is streaked gold and pink and orange, the rays of light reflecting off the fluffy white clouds that line the horizon, and despite the cool night air, Sam feels warm, both from his tea and from his company.

The CD Sam lent to Cas, _The Crane Wife_ by the Decemberists, is playing softly through the Mustang’s speakers. For the beginning half of the album, they talk while the music plays, exchanging stories about work, their siblings, music, even a little bit about high school.

“I was the weird art-kid-douchebag that thought I was deep because I wore all black and read _Catcher in the Rye_ ,” Cas admits with a laugh.

Sam talks briefly about what it was like being the quiet, nerdy kid, but it honestly isn’t much different from how he is now, so he ultimately steers the conversation in a different direction. It’s so easy to do with Cas--to talk, to naturally flow from topic to topic. Usually when Sam makes conversation with anyone who isn’t Dean, it’s awkward, forced, but with Cas, it’s different. When he listens, he actually listens, with his eyes fixed on Sam and an interested smile on his face. And Cas himself is so interesting, Sam swears he could just listen to that gravelly voice talk for hours and never get bored.

But as the album draws to a close, and the sun starts to disappear beneath the horizon, a kind of natural silence descends between them until only the wind and the music are left. They listen wordlessly, sipping at their almost-empty drinks and staring at the darkening sky.

Sam doesn’t speak again until they reach the final track on the album. “This song is my favorite,” he says quietly, and Cas nods, shifting slightly in the front seat. Their knees barely brush.

Sam closes his eyes and relaxes into the car seat, letting the music flow through him. Combined with the whisper of wind against his skin, the scent of incense around him, and the warmth in his belly, it’s enough to make him feel almost sleepy with how at ease he is. He almost doesn’t notice the song ending, the CD player whirring as it automatically ejects the disk.

“Sam,” Cas says, his voice gently pulling Sam from his half-daze. He blinks a few times before turning to face Cas again; they’re closer than he remembers

“Sorry,” he mutters, blushing, but Cas shakes his head.

“Don’t be. It’s a lovely song.”

“Yeah?”

“I truly enjoyed it,” Cas smiles, and Sam can’t help but smile back. Cas’s eyes are so blue, even at dusk, so warm and full of light, that Sam wants to crawl inside them and fall asleep.

“I’m glad,” Sam says, suddenly feeling like there’s no breath left in his lungs.

“Thank you for sharing the album with me.” Cas’s voice is low, almost a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” Sam replies just as quietly.

Sam feels something light land on his knee, and when he looks down, Cas’s hand is there, big and inked and warm. He can hear Cas’s breath in his ear, and Sam’s sure Cas could hear his, too, if he was breathing; it’s more likely that Cas can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

For a long moment, neither of them move--they just stare. Cas has a smile on his face like he knows something Sam doesn’t, and then he’s moving closer, closer--

At first, their lips barely touch, just hover over each other like fingertips over something breakable. And then Sam’s eyelids flutter closed, and he takes the leap, moving forward that final millimeter until he fully feels the warmth of Cas’s skin on his, the slight scratch of his stubble against his lips. It almost makes Sam laugh, but he doesn’t; he’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

In hindsight, the kiss couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds, but to Sam it feels like minutes pass before Cas pulls away, blinking those blue eyes and searching Sam’s face for a reaction. Sam lets out a breathless laugh and resists the urge to reach up and touch his tingling lips. He feels like a ninth grader having his first kiss all over again; he’s the quiet kid with straight A’s, all ambition and anxiety, and Cas is the art kid in dark clothes that tastes like cigarettes and poetry. It’s innocent, like Sam’s actual first kiss was--just a touch of lips and nothing more--but it’s enough to send Sam reeling.

For the first time in years, Sam isn’t anxious to get home, to get away from people. And when Cas pulls up in front of Sam’s shop again later that night, Sam’s hand hesitates on the door handle.

“Thank you for tonight,” Sam says, grabbing his messenger bag from the floor of the car.

“Thank you for spending it with me,” Cas replies. Sam gives him a smile and opens the door, but before he can climb out, Cas adds, “I’m glad I met you, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “Me, too.”

The door shuts behind him, and Cas waits to drive off until Sam has gotten into his own car and turned on the lights. When Sam gets back to his own apartment, he eats a small dinner and takes a shower. He pulls his copy of _The Crane Wife_ from his bag, places it in his own CD player, and presses ‘play’ before crawling into bed and falling asleep.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

At some point during their date, right around the time they were exchanging phone numbers, Cas had told Sam that Wednesdays are his days off. While Sam was somewhat disappointed he wouldn’t see Cas the next day, he figures it’s probably a good thing that they give each other some breathing room after the night before. To say Sam needs some time to grasp what happened is an understatement, and he figures Cas might need some time to think about it, too.

And so Sam doesn’t see Cas again the next day when he goes to work. He does see Anna, though, when she parks in front of The Cage that morning. She gets out of her little car and turns around to face Sam’s shop, squinting in the sunlight, and even though Sam is inside and his windows are slightly tinted, he swears Anna is watching him. She stares for a brief moment, laughs at something--Sam isn’t sure what, but he’s pretty certain it has to do with him--then turns around and walks through the front door of the tattoo parlor, shaking her head.

Sam has no idea what it means, if anything, and tries not to dwell too much on the strange encounter.

The day passes quicker than usual. Sam gets a flux of new orders and, for once, actually has something to do for the majority of the day. It’s almost enough to get his mind off of the night he spent with Cas a day earlier. Almost.

When five o’clock comes, Sam locks up the shop and heads for Dean’s apartment. Ever since they became adults and both moved into their own places, they’ve made a routine of hanging out at Dean’s every Wednesday. Even after several years, Sam always looks forward to their Wednesday night get-togethers, no matter how nondescript they are. Most nights, they just sit down with some food and beer and either watch a sports game if it’s the season or just talk. More often than not, Dean does most of the talking; Sam doesn’t have much to say, anyway, but he doesn’t mind. He knows his life isn’t all that interesting, and it’s more fun to listen to what Dean has to say than to bore Dean with details of his latest flower arrangement or shipment of pots.

Lately, though, his life is starting to look more and more interesting, and most of it has to do with one certain blue-eyed tattoo artist.

When Sam shows up at Dean’s, he is greeted as usual with a brotherly clap on the back. Sam always declines Dean’s offer to have a beer--he’s not a big drinker, and alcohol makes his anxiety levels spike, contrary to what most people’s response is--but Dean always offers anyway before disappearing into the kitchen to grab a beer for himself and a Coke for Sam. While Dean is in the kitchen, Sam plops down into the big chair he usually claims as his own when he’s at Dean’s and lets out a content sigh. Next to his own apartment and his shop, being with his brother is where Sam feels the most at home.

As per usual, when Dean returns, he launches right into a story from his own life--this time something about drama with Jo’s mom as they prepare for the wedding. “She’s real traditional,” Dean explains. “Like, thinking Jo and I haven’t slept together yet traditional.” Normally Sam would be completely willing to listen, laugh along at Dean’s story when appropriate, maybe offer advice, but today he finds his mind is wandering elsewhere and he’s unable to completely focus.

“Sam,” Dean says, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face to pull him from his thoughts. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Sam apologizes, shaking his head to clear his mind. “Ellen thinks you haven’t had sex with Jo yet. Go on.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I said that, like, five minutes ago. What’s got you all distracted?”

“Nothing,” Sam answers too quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, unconvinced. “Seriously, man, what’s up?”

Sam takes a deep breath, staring at his fingers as they play with the tab on his Coke can. “It’s not a big deal, really,” he says with a shrug, but even as the words are coming out, he can’t stop himself from smiling a bit. “But I, uh… I went on a date.”

Dean nearly spits out his beer, leaning forward in his seat with his eyebrows raised. “Wait, seriously?!”

“Don’t act so surprised!”

“Sorry, it’s just--well, I can’t help it,” Dean says, resting his elbows on his knees. “You haven’t been on a date in, what, ten years?”

“Six years,” Sam mutters.

“So who was it with? You have to tell me everything,” Dean pushes.

“You sound like a thirteen-year-old girl at a sleepover.”

“Just tell me, idiot.” Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm your brother. I deserve to know these things."

Sam laughs and looks down at his feet, his eyes softening as he replays the events of the night before in his mind--the music, the quiet conversation, the kiss... “So, um, you know that tattoo parlor across the street from where I work? The Cage?” Dean nods. “Well, he works there.”

“A tattoo artist?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that was your type.”

“I didn’t think so either. But last week he came in to pick up some flowers, and then I saw him again at Jo’s party, and we just talked a little and then…” Sam shrugs, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Did you get laid?” Dean asks.

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he practically sees his brain. “No, I didn’t get laid, jerk,” he says. “Is that seriously all you can think about?”

“What about third base?”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam scoffs.

“Sorry, I had to ask,” Dean says, holding up his hands in defense. “Did you at least kiss him?”

Sam feels his face heating up, but he nods. “Alright!” Dean says, reaching over to playfully push Sam’s shoulder. “There’s hope for you yet, Sammy. You gonna go out with him again?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighs. “I hope so. I might see him tomorrow at work.” Not for the first time this week, he feels like a middle-schooler with a crush, all blushes and shy smiles. Half of him is embarrassed by it, but the other half of him is too happy to care.

_Oh, Sam, you are in this too deep already._

“And you call me the thirteen-year-old girl,” Dean teases, shaking his head. “Well, I’m happy for you, man. I hope everything works out. And that you actually get some action for once.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but then again, the idea of getting some action from Cas isn’t exactly a bad one. Just the thought of it makes the tips of Sam’s ears burn bright red. With a small smirk, he says, “Thanks, Dean. I think.”

The rest of the night carries on as per usual. They talk about work, about the preparations for Dean’s wedding which is getting closer and closer every day, and eventually they turn on the TV to catch the tail end of a college football game in which their team wins. Dean is bordering on tipsy when nine o’clock comes and Sam decides to head home for the night, and he cracks one final joke about Sam’s sex life before Sam finally slips out the door, an amused grin on his face.

When Sam gets back to his apartment a few hours later, he checks his phone for the first time since arriving at Dean’s to find he has three missed messages--all of them from Cas.

 

_Message from: Cas Novak_

_Sam, which Decemberists album would you recommend I listen to next?_

_Received 7:26 p.m._

_Message from: Cas Novak_

_Sam?_

_Received 7:41 p.m._

_Message from: Cas Novak_

_Never mind, I downloaded all of them._

_Received 8:03 p.m._

Sam can’t hold back his laughter as he reads and rereads Cas’s texts, flopping backward onto his bed. He recognizes somewhere in the back of his mind that this is the first time he’s texted someone who isn’t his brother or a customer in a long while, but just seeing Cas’s name on his phone screen is enough to make him break out into a smile. Kicking off his shoes as he types, he responds quickly:

 

**_Message sent to: Cas Novak_ **

**_Sorry, I was at my brother’s. U really liked the band that much?_ **

****

Less than a minute passes before he receives the reply.

 

_I loved it. You have wonderful taste in music. Apart from not liking Sonic Youth, but I can let that one slide._

And then, a few seconds after that:

_I’d be interested to see what other albums you have in your collection._

Sam takes a deep breath as he thinks out his reply, willing himself to type what he wants to say. Eventually, he gets it out, and after only a moment of hesitation, hits ‘send.’

 

**_I can bring you another one sometime. Maybe we could eat lunch together tomorrow or something._ **

****

He waits anxiously for the reply, staring at the ceiling for the several minutes it takes to get a reply. As the wait stretches on, he finds doubts and worries worming their way into his mind, as they always do-- _what if I came on too strong? What if he doesn’t actually want to see me again and he was just being nice? What if I--_

Then his phone buzzes, and Sam almost flings his phone across the room in his haste to grab it and read the message.

_I’d like that very much._

 

The sigh that Sam lets out is audible, and his relief only deepens at Cas’s second text:

 

_I’ll come over to your shop around noon?_

**_That would be great,_** he types back. **_I’ll see you tomorrow, then._**

****

While he waits for Cas’s response, Sam gets out of bed and readies himself for sleep, changing into a pair of sweats and brushing his teeth. Once he’s turned off his light and climbed into bed, he checks his phone one last time to see a final text from Cas:

 

_I can’t wait._

Neither can Sam, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, the clock has just hit 11:59 when Sam hears the telltale ringing of a bell, signaling that someone has entered his shop. With an anticipatory smile on his face, he steps out of the back room to see Cas standing near the front desk, his bag slung over his shoulder as he looks around at the multitude of flower arrangements crowding the room. He looks up as Sam steps inside and gives him a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, and Sam grins back, his heart having gone from a normal pace to thumping wildly in his chest in less than two seconds.

“Hey,” Sam says, pulling his apron off over his head and draping it across the front desk. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Cas replies, watching as Sam moves to the front door and puts up the sign that says “Gone for lunch--back by 12:30.”

“I usually eat back here, if that’s okay,” Sam says, grabbing his own bag from behind the desk and leading Cas to the back room. The back room’s walls are shelves packed to the ceiling with gardening supplies, pots, and seedlings, the majority of the room’s interior taken up by large tables decorated with flowers in all stages of sprouting and a few of Sam’s arrangements in progress. In the corner is a small round table set up with two foldable chairs, the second of which usually goes unused, but not today. Cas pulls out the chair and sits down across from Sam, smiling around the room.

“It’s nice back here,” he comments. Sam assumes he’s just being polite; it’s not like his workroom is a piece of beauty or anything. There’s dirt and leaves all over the floor in which their shoes leave footprints where they walk, and more than a few bugs buzzing around the plants and their heads. But Cas seems to genuinely mean it, as he does with everything he says, and that’s enough to soothe some of Sam’s worries. “So this is where the magic happens?”

Sam chuckles, pulling a sandwich wrapped in cling wrap from his bag. “I wouldn’t call it magic, necessarily,” he shrugs. “It’s nothing like what you do. It isn’t hard, really.”

“That’s just because you make it look easy,” Cas replies. “It’s like any kind of art form. Some people just have that touch.”

His cerulean eyes meet Sam’s for a lingering moment, and Sam can only stare until he snaps himself away and nervously looks down at his feet. A slow smile that Sam can’t see stretches across Cas’s face.

“You sell yourself short, Sam,” Cas says, pulling a Tupperware bowl from his messenger bag. “You should be proud of your skills. Not just anyone could do what you do, just like not anyone could do what I do.”

Sam feels his face turning pink, and he keeps his head ducked as he says, not entirely convinced, “Okay.”

Cas is quick to change the subject, for which Sam is grateful. “So how’s business today, anyway?” he asks, stirring the leftover fried rice in his bowl with some chopsticks he brought with him.

“Kind of slow, but that’s not unusual,” Sam shrugs, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Mostly I just work on my orders until someone comes in, but a lot of people look and don’t buy anything.”

“That must be frustrating.”

“I don’t mind,” Sam says. “Not really. I get to do what I love either way. I just like being around the flowers. It makes me feel happy. Safe, almost.” He slowly swallows his bite of PB&J before blushing. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not like you care.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cas replies, lightly resting his hand on top of Sam’s on the table. “I like hearing what you have to say.”

Sam stares at Cas’s hand, resting so gently atop his own. Across Cas’s knuckles, the word “LOVE” is tattooed, and the E on his index finger moves slightly back and forth as Cas strokes Sam’s hand, the touch so light it almost tickles. A slight shiver runs down Sam’s spine, and he’s positive it’s not from the air conditioner across the room.

“H-how’s business for you today?” Sam stutters, opting for small talk since his brain is unable to come up with anything else intelligible to say. Luckily, Cas doesn’t seem to notice that Sam’s brain has short-wired just from his touch.

“Not bad, not bad,” Cas says. He retracts his hand from Sam’s to stir at his rice again, but even with his hand gone, Sam can feel his skin tingling where Cas’s touch once was. “I did a really interesting piece before I came here that took almost the whole morning. This man wanted an octopus done on his calf, which isn’t too strange, I suppose, but he wanted the octopus to be holding a machine gun that was shooting bubbles. The octopus was smoking a cigar, too.”

“That’s… kind of bizarre,” Sam chuckles.

“Oh, I’ve got even better stories than that,” Cas assures him. “Once, this lady came in--sweet little old lady, no younger than seventy at least--and she wanted the words ‘Daddy’s Bitch’ above her ass. Like a tramp stamp.”

Sam’s hand flies to cover his mouth as he laughs out loud at that, his mouth still full of the sandwich he’s in the middle of chewing. Cas chuckles at the memory as well, adding, “She took it like a pro, too. Didn’t have any trouble with the pain. And when she left, she called me ‘sonny,’ like I was her grandkid.”

“I bet you get all kinds of interesting people at your shop,” Sam says once his laughing fit has calmed down a little.

“Oh, definitely,” Cas nods, taking a bite of rice. “Most people are pretty normal, you know. But once in a while you’ll get a grandma with a daddy kink, and that’s not even the worst of them.”

From there, Sam launches into a story about some of his craziest customers--a bridezilla who demanded all flowers be _Mardi Gras purple_ , whatever that is; a man who asked for a fictional flower that only existed in an episode of _Star Trek_ , and threatened Sam when he said it wasn’t real. Somehow, that melts into a story about a time Cas got drunk at a Shakespeare festival, which turns into Sam and Cas discussing their favorite Shakespeare plays.

“I was actually a literature major at Kansas State before I decided to join the family business,” Cas explains, finishing off his fried rice.

“Really?” Sam asks. He’s surprised that Cas would be into literature, though he isn’t sure why; Cas seems to be into a lot of things Sam wouldn’t initially assume. Maybe that’s what he likes about this guy--he’s unpredictable, in all the right ways.

“Really. Did you go to college? Or, florist college?” Cas asks.

Sam shifts a little in his seat, letting his hair fall in front of his face. “Well, I got accepted to Stanford,” he admits a bit quietly. “I went for about a year before I decided it wasn’t for me and I moved back to Kansas.”

“No way. _Stanford?_ ” Cas gapes, and Sam ducks his head a little further, ready for Cas to tell him all the reasons why he should’ve stayed in school. He’s heard it a million times before--from his dad, his brother, the guy who fixes his car. “Jesus. I knew you were intelligent, but I had no idea.”

Sam looks up slowly. That’s really all Cas has to say about it? No “why did you drop out?” No “you had such a bright future and you threw it away?”

“I just… worked really hard in high school, I guess,” he shrugs, unsure of what else to say.

“I figured. But you didn’t like it?”

Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t that it was too much work, it just… Wasn’t for me.” Sam decides to leave the part out about the crippling anxiety, the fear of failure so heavy it led him to stop trying altogether, the need for something calming where he could be in control. Something like floristry.

“Well, good for you,” Cas says.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“I said good for you,” Cas repeats. “So many people these days get caught up in what they think they should do--to get money, to be successful. They don’t pay attention to what they actually want to do, you know? And what’s the point of any of it if you’re not happy?”

Sam leans back in his chair, blinking. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

Suddenly, Cas’s hand is on Sam’s again, and Sam finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from Cas’s, so bright and blue and intense as they gaze into his.

“Are you happy, Sam?”

Sam takes a deep breath, pondering the question. The only person who’s ever asked him this before is his therapist, Dr. Tran, and most of the time, the answer is easy: _no. I’m not happy. Sometimes, I get glimpses of it--when I’m watering my plants, or when I’m at Dean’s house--but other than that, I’m too anxious to be happy. Too scared. Too alone._

But for whatever reason, to say no to Cas now would feel like a lie, because in this moment, Sam feels good. Better than he has in a while. Cas’s hand on his is like a warm weight anchoring him to the earth, keeping his feet on the ground in a way that before could only be done by heavy doses of medication. The way Cas stares at him makes Sam feel like he’s floating, and not in the terrified, dissociative way he knows all too well. It’s enough to make Sam want to cry, but he pushes the tears away, instead gently squeezing Cas’s hand.

For Sam, the answer is easy. “Yes. I am.”

*

It isn’t long before an alarm goes off on Cas’s phone, signaling that it’s 12:30 and his lunch break is over. While the two of them throw away their trash and Cas packs up his things, Cas asks, “So, I was thinking. There’s this new exhibit at the art museum that starts tonight, and it seems like something you’d be interested in. Do you want to go with me?”

Sam’s heart soars--as it has been doing quite often recently--before his face suddenly falls as he remembers: today is Thursday. Only three times in two years has Sam missed his Thursday appointment with Dr. Tran.

“Uh,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as he searches his mind for an excuse. The last thing he’s going to do is admit to Castiel that he’s an anxiety-ridden, unstable freak, and though Sam hates to lie, right now, it seems the best option. “I’d really love to. But I can’t tonight. I have, uh… a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh, alright,” Cas says, tossing his bag over his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to Sam’s discomfort. “Maybe another time, then.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Sam smiles uneasily. He follows Cas back out into the front room, watching as he reaches for the door handle. “Hey, wait.”

Cas turns, his hand still on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Um,” Sam stutters before clearing his throat and trying again. “I really enjoyed eating with you. If you ever want to, you know, do it again… You don’t have to ask. You can just come over.”

That gorgeous, crinkly-eyed smile breaks across Cas’s face again. “I’d love to do that, Sam.”

Sam smiles sheepishly, ducking his head slightly. “I guess I’ll see you later, Cas.”

“I’ll see you later, Sam,” Cas says, but instead of heading out the door, he hesitates. Just as Sam looks up to see why he hasn’t left yet, Cas takes a step forward so that he’s standing chest-to-chest with Sam, making Sam’s breath hitch in the back of his throat.

Slightly leaning up on his toes, Cas presses a short, sweet kiss to Sam’s cheek, his stubble scratching the soft skin there as he pulls away. With that signature wink of his, Cas turns and heads out the door, the bell ringing above him as he steps out onto the street.

Sam stares out after Cas as he checks both ways and crosses the street. When Cas disappears into The Cage, Sam is still staring, his hand slowly gravitating to touch the slightly wet spot on his cheek where Cas kissed him. His fingertips graze over the spot, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, and Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It shouldn’t be as earth-shattering to him as it is; after all, they’ve kissed on the mouth before. But for some reason, this time, it feels different. More intimate. It makes Sam feel dizzy.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam is afraid. He can tell with each passing second that he’s falling for this tattooed, blue-eyed man, and Cas seems to be having the same feeling for Sam, as wonderful and horrifying as it is. But this--whatever it is--they have between them means that someday, maybe someday soon, Sam is going to have to tell the truth about some things. About Dr. Tran. About why he dropped out of college. About why there are two bottles of prescription anxiety meds next to his bed and another in his bathroom. When that happens, Sam knows that something will change. Suddenly, he won’t be the “cute, awkward florist” anymore; he’ll be the freak, the mentally ill weirdo, the guy too unstable to take care of himself, too unlovable for Cas to deal with anymore. Sam knows it will happen. It always does.

But the other part--the part of him that’s still touching the kiss mark on his cheek, the part of him that feels like he’s flying and drowning and falling all at the same time--is too in love to care. And that’s the scariest part of it all.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“So,” Sam says, playing with his fingers in his lap. “I met someone.”

Dr. Tran sits across from him in his big leather chair, legs crossed and a yellow notepad sitting in his lap. It’s a familiar sight for Sam, one he’s seen every Thursday for the past two years. Like when he’s in his shop, or at Dean’s house, or in his own home, Sam feels at ease here. Calm.

Today, though, there’s a twinge of anxiety in his stomach, a bit of speed to his heart beat. It’s not like the anxiety Sam usually feels when he’s in places like the grocery store or at parties; no, it’s the new kind of anxiety, the kind that feels surprisingly good and terrifying all at once. The kind he’s only ever felt when he’s around Cas. If Sam thinks about it, he can still feel his cheek tingling where Cas kissed it more than three hours earlier.

“Who did you meet?” Dr. Tran asks, and Sam finds himself smiling before he even has the chance to answer.

“His name’s Castiel. Cas. He works across the street from me, at a tattoo parlor,” Sam says, staring down at his hands with a small grin on his face. “He, um, he came in to buy some flowers. And we started talking. Then I saw him again at Dean’s party, and, well… We went on a date.”

Dr. Tran’s eyebrows go up in surprise, though he’s smiling when he says, “A date. That’s new.”

Sam chuckles and nods. “Yeah. It is.”

“Have you seen him again since the date?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “We had lunch together today. I think we might do it again tomorrow.”

Dr. Tran is impressed, and makes a small note on his notepad before turning back to face Sam. “You must really like him, then.”

Sam nods earnestly. “I do. He’s just really…” He struggles for the word for a moment. “I don’t know. He’s easy to talk to. And smart, but not pretentious about it, you know? And everything he says is so interesting but he’s also really cute and…” _And his eyes are like the ocean. And his smile is contagious. And every time I smell cigarettes I get excited because I think it’s him coming to talk to me again._

“Yeah,” Sam finishes, trying not to blush again.

“I haven’t seen you smile this much in months,” Dr. Tran comments, and, oh, look, Sam is blushing now. _Good job, Sam._ “It’s refreshing, honestly. You’re opening up to new people and that’s… kind of a big deal for you. You should be proud of yourself, Sam.”

Sam shrugs modestly. He’s not proud of himself, not really, because it doesn’t feel like he’s done anything. It’s not like he climbed a mountain or something. He just went on a date. That’s something normal people do all the time. And it wasn’t even that difficult for Sam this time around, because Cas was there, with his mellow vibe and low voice that’s like music to Sam’s ears. It’s easy to be calm around Cas, and that’s all there is to it. It doesn’t seem much like a victory to Sam.

“I’m serious,” Dr. Tran insists, seemingly reading Sam’s mind as he so often does. “When’s the last time you hung out with someone new just because you wanted to and you liked them, not because your brother or your job forced you to?”

Sam thinks for a minute, but comes up with nothing. “I don’t remember.”

“Exactly. This is a big step for you, Sam. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Sam nods, thinking back to that conversation with Cas at Jo’s party what feels like forever ago. _You sell yourself short, Sam,_ Cas had said. _It’s not every day I meet a cute florist._

Jesus, everything reminds Sam of Cas these days. It’s a problem.

“So, you’ve been on a date,” Dr. Tran continues. “You’ve met a few times together outside of work. Have the two of you had sex?”

“What? No!” Sam exclaims, hiding his hands behind his face. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“I’m just curious,” Dr. Tran says, holding up his hands in defense with a small chuckle. “I’m trying to get a feel for what your relationship with him is like. So no sex. That’s fine. What about kissing?”

Sam nods, feeling his face return to its normal shade. “We kissed a little on our date.”

“So you think maybe this Cas guy likes you as much as you like him?”

Sam thinks about it for a minute. Honestly, he doubts that anyone anywhere likes anything as much as he likes Cas, but after a while, he nods. “I think he likes me. I _hope_ he likes me.”

“Are you going to ask him to be your boyfriend?”

Huh. Sam honestly hasn’t thought about that yet, but now that he does, he feels a little ball of warmth developing deep in his belly at the thought. It would be nice, he thinks, to be “official” with Cas, whatever exactly that entails. Holding hands. Going to each other’s houses. Going on regular dates. Introducing Cas to Dean as “my boyfriend.” It makes Sam’s heart stutter in his chest.

“I was kind of hoping he’d ask first,” Sam answers honestly.

“He may be hoping the same thing for you,” Dr. Tran points out. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

Sam doubts this; Cas has always seemed to have so much more self-confidence than Sam could even dream of having, and he highly doubts he has the capacity to make Cas as nervous as he makes Sam. Still, it’s an interesting thought to consider.

Dr. Tran leans forward in his chair, capturing Sam’s gaze as he says, “You can’t wait for the rest of the world to take leaps for you, Sam. Sometimes you have to take them yourself. And there’s no time like the present.”

*

Sam sleeps on Dr. Tran’s words, and the next day, he goes to work at war with himself. He wants with every fiber of his being to ask Cas that simple question-- _will you be mine?_ \--but the abundance of worries in his head outweigh any tiny bit of self-confidence he ever possessed. Of course, there’s the main fear that Cas will say no, either because Sam is taking this too fast or just because he doesn’t like Sam that way. Sam is positive the latter isn’t true, because why would Cas have kissed him and continued to see him if he didn’t like him? But still, there’s a pervasive feeling in him that he’s reading all of Cas’s signs wrong, that maybe Cas doesn’t actually like him, or worse--maybe he _pities_ Sam. It all seems equally possible in Sam’s anxiety-addled mind.

And of course, there’s the question of how to ask. It’s not like Sam can just slide Cas a note that says “Be my boyfriend? Check yes or no,” though that would definitely be easier than any other option Sam can come up with. Should he kiss Cas first? Or would that be too forward? Should he ask via text, or is that too middle school? Maybe he should wait a few weeks, see if their relationship progresses naturally or if Cas asks him first?

Sam is still worrying about it all when noon comes and the front door of his shop opens, revealing the familiar outline of Castiel in the doorway. His hair is unbrushed as usual, his leather jacket rumpled just-so and his jeans torn with just the right amount of holes. He strolls into Sam’s shop with a smile on his face, joining Sam in the back room where he’s been working on an arrangement for the past few hours.

Sam looks up from his work and feels his heart leap into his throat, his worries suddenly amplified by Cas’s presence, though Cas seems oblivious. He drops his messenger bag into the chair where he sat the day before and smiles at Sam’s work, commenting, “That looks amazing.”

Sam swallows, looking down at the arrangement of lilies and lavender roses he’s spent the last few hours creating. “Thanks. It’s for a wedding.”

“I hope you don’t mind me coming over, I just thought--well, it’s my lunch break. But if you’re busy, I can leave,” Cas offers.

Despite his anxiety, Sam is quick to assure him, “No, no, of course you can stay! I’m hungry, anyway. I’ll be right back.”

He disappears for a few moments to put up his lunch break sign and grab his lunch before returning to the back room. Cas has already started eating his salad when Sam sits down across from him, though he pauses for a moment to ask, “So how was your doctor’s appointment?”

Sam is confused for a brief moment before he remembers the excuse he gave Cas the day before. “Oh, uh,” he stutters, unwrapping his sandwich. “It was fine. I’ve still got all my limbs intact, so.”

Cas laughs, and the sound alone is enough to soothe some of Sam’s uneasiness. And just like that, they find themselves back in that steady groove that comes so naturally when they’re around each other. Cas is telling a story about a girl he pierced that morning and Sam is listening intently, laughing at all the right moments and asking questions when he has them. For half an hour, Sam almost forgets about all his previous worries, instead letting his mind be overtaken by thoughts of Castiel and how good it feels to be just in the same room as him.

It’s only a few minutes until 12:30 when Cas checks his watch and sighs, “I’ll probably have to go soon.”

Slightly disappointed, Sam nods, sighing, “Yeah, I should probably get back to work, too. I still have a few arrangements to finish by the end of the day.”

“Before I go, though,” Cas says, “I have something I want to ask you.”

Sam swallows, but nods slowly. “Okay.”

Cas adjusts the messenger bag over his shoulder, a small smile on his face as he looks up at Sam. He bites his lip a little, running his tongue over his lip ring, and Sam tries not to stare too much. After a moment, Cas finally sighs and begins.

“Okay, so, I was gonna bring you flowers,” he starts with a small chuckle. “But that’s really cliche. And I kind of figured you have enough flowers to last you a while, so… I’m just gonna come right out and ask this without any of the stereotypical romantic nonsense.”

Sam blinks, his lips quirking upwards. Is Cas babbling because he’s _nervous?_ “Okay…”

“I was just… wondering,” Cas continues, taking a step slightly closer to Sam so that only a few inches keep their chests from touching. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I really like you, Sam. And…” He looks up at Sam, his hand reaching for Sam’s to hold it between them. The touch sends shivers down Sam’s spine. “Alright, I’m just gonna say it. I want to be your boyfriend.”

Cas stares up at Sam expectantly, waiting for his response, but all Sam can do is blink, his mouth slowly twitching upward into a smile.

“Sam?” Cas prompts when Sam is silent for a solid minute.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, finally finding his voice. He chuckles and shakes his head a little, still holding onto Cas’s hand. “I just… I was going to ask you the same thing, and I was so worried about how I was going to ask you, but then _you_ asked _me_ and I just… it surprised me. I didn’t think you would…” He trails off.

“You didn’t think I would what?”

“I didn’t think you would want to be with me,” Sam admits.

Cas frowns. “And why wouldn’t I want to be with you, hm?” he asks, reaching up with his free hand to brush some of Sam’s hair out of his eyes. Sam’s cheeks burn hot at the touch, and he ducks his head shyly, letting Cas rest his hand on his shoulder.

“Because I’m…” _Weird. Socially awkward. Boring. Anxious. Unstable._ “Because I’m me.”

Cas tilts Sam’s chin upwards so that their eyes meet again, and Sam feels his breath catch in his lungs at the sight of Cas staring at him so intensely, his face only inches away, like he’s looking straight into Sam’s soul. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, just like everything is with Cas.

“I happen to think you’re pretty great,” Cas murmurs. Sam has to remind himself to breathe as Cas takes a tiny step closer so that their chests are touching, barely an inch of space left between them.

“I… I think you’re pretty great, too,” Sam stutters, biting at his lip.

“So is that a yes?” Cas asks, the end of his lips curling up into a smirk.

Sam nods, slowly at first and then more earnestly. “Yes,” he says breathlessly. “Yes.”

Before he can even get the final syllable out, Cas is on his toes pressing his lips to Sam’s. His lips are chapped but somehow still soft, tasting like cigarettes and coffee, and Sam sighs into the kiss, slumping forward into Cas. Even though the blood is rushing loud and fast through Sam’s ears and he can barely process everything going on, he is able to think just enough to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist and pull him closer, their lips sliding together like this is what they were made to do and nothing else.

The kiss lasts less than two minutes, but it feels like hours have passed when Cas pulls away slowly, smiling up at Sam through dark eyelashes. Sam breathes heavily through his mouth, not because the kiss was particularly breathtaking but because he thinks he forgot to breathe at all. For a moment, they stand in front of each other, gauging each other’s reactions and just staring, stupid grins on both of their faces.

“I think I’m gonna be late,” Cas says finally, chuckling.

“Yeah,” he sighs. Sam glances over Cas’s shoulder to see that it’s 12:35 now, and there’s an impatient customer waiting outside Sam’s shop, glancing at their watch.

Cas leans up to kiss Sam’s cheek before turning towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

Sam nods, following Cas into the main room. “Okay.”

Cas pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking up to shoot Sam one last smile. “See you later, boyfriend.” With that, he opens the door and steps out onto the street, holding the door open so that the customer can step into Sam’s shop. Sam watches Cas cross the street and disappear into The Cage’s front door before turning to face the woman in his shop.

“Sorry for the wait,” Sam says, forcing himself to snap back into work-mode. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Is that your boyfriend out there?” the woman asks, pointing across the street to The Cage.

Sam blinks, taken back by the question, but eventually nods, blushing slightly as he says, “Yes.”

The woman grins. “You two make a cute couple.”

Sam doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

 


End file.
